All Hallow's Eve In Middleton
by Rye-bread
Summary: Not all the students at Middleton High School were depicted on the show.  I sometimes wonder if one of these is in every school.  If you meet one, shine them on.


I had planned to submit this for Halloween, 2005, but the Glacially Slow Writer took awhile. Happy Haunting.

Kim, Ron, Ned, the Rockwallers, Middleton, etc. belong to Disney. Nostradamus Feratu belongs to whoever wants him. He might want you (gulp)

**_ALL HALLOW'S EVE IN MIDDLETON_**

Ah, my friend Ned. How good to see you again. The place seems quiet tonight. Who am I? Surely you have not forgotten your old high school chum, Nostradamus Diabolos Feratu? "Chum" is an outdated word? Alas, I made many such errors in my four years at Middleton. The town seems different with all our class gone; how strange to see you still working here at Bueno Nacho. Ah, yes, paying the bills; your point is well taken. What shall I have?

I would like to order my usual: one taco, shredded lettuce, tomato, and chicken--no ground beef; we must care take of our arteries, must we not--well, perhaps a small dollop of sour cream; a minor indulgence; low fat, mind you; and a medium cola.

I must shortly return to my native Rumania. I was just in town for the Holidays--All Souls' Eve, you understand--the more ancient name for Hallowe'en. In the old country, the people honor All Souls' Day much more than here--the solemnity, the pageantry--nothing frivolous like Trick Or Treat. One could say it even surpasses the Feasts of the Nativity and the Resurrection--Christmas and Easter, you know--in importance. But in the house of my father it was All Souls' Eve that held the highest place of esteem--the night when the departed ancestors draw near, and the restless spirits wander in the world of the living. Our great dining hall would be ablaze with candles. We would honor those of our past and look forward to those of our future.

Forgive me--I grow sentimental--I am envisioning what it must be like there tonight.

How well I remember my last night in Middleton: high school graduation; it was the night when all those who had been mutually hateful for years were suddenly the best of friends. The hypocrisy was so transparent; but I was caught up in the excitement of the night, so I did not mind. The parties we all attended--I even managed to crash--is that the right word?--the most forbidden party, the gathering of the Popular Students at the Rockwaller home. Bonnie flirted with me, but she held no appeal--she was too inebriated. Her mother flitted about us all like a mosquito. Frowzy old harridan--forgive me, my friend--how tasteless that remark was. Her older sisters, though, whom I saw but briefly--ah, that was a different matter. They were on their way to a social engagement. They looked upon their younger sister's guests with disdain. But I caught their eye, as they caught my eye. I could tell at once. They were more sophisticated, more subtle--more decadent. And they regarded me with favor. Alas that I was too young at the time. If I were to meet them now, I could usher them into a world of sensuousness beyond what they could ever imagine.

Ah, my order is ready. Thank you, Ned. I have always appreciated your efficiency. Come, sit with me, give me some company while I eat. I see that I am your only customer at the moment. Let me relieve what must be a very boring evening work shift.

I spent the summer with my father. We took a world tour: the sites of history's most famous massacres and atrocities;both the ancient (the Bohdan Khmelnytsky, the place of the slaughter of the Polish Jews in 1648, the places of the St Bartholomew's Day Massacre in France, and so forth) and the modern (the Nazi concentration camps of Poland, the mass graves of Bosnia and Rwanda, the killing fields of Cambodia). We even got to talk with Slobodon Mylosivitch and Saddam Hussein (my father is a man of considerable international influence--private meetings were arranged).

That part was rather sad; these men who were such powerful personalities while they were heads of state were now so pitiful; Saddam obsessing about his daily allotment of junk food and his unfair treatment and Mr. Mylosivitch has gone to his--reward--heh.

--and my father inducted me into the family business. That was a proud and solemn moment. I am now a considered a man in the eyes of the family, with all the responsibilities and privileges that attend that position.

It has always intrigued me, this term "Food Chain" that they use to describe the social pyramid. At other places I have heard other names: the "A-List", the "Pecking Order", the "Spiral Staircase",in the part of Rumania where I grew up, they called it "the divine right", "the royal prerogative."

But here I have been babbling nonstop. Tell me of your life since I saw you last, and of some of our old classmates.

Interesting! Very interesting!

So Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable have become engaged. I could sense the bond between them at first sight.

I believe in such things: there are intangible spiritual bonds stronger than death

I offered to Ron the chance to attain the greatest dreams of both mankind and himself: Immortality, eternal life; and intimate union with Kim, union of such closeness that he would know her very thoughts, that he would taste her very emotions, feelings, and moods, as I am able to taste this meal which you have so conscientiously prepared. He would be able to drink of her soul as I can drink of this glass of soda.

I spoke to him in a way that a book or a song speaks to the heart. I came to him in his daydreams and his night dreams. I appealed to him through his innermost desires. I showed him Kim, in all her beauty, without flaw or blemish, perfect. I showed him Kim ageless in her beauty, that resplendent hair never growing grey, those dazzling eyes never growing dim, that flawless skin never growing rough or wrinkled. She would look that way for a century, a millennium, an eon. No coffin lid would forever close on that lovely face. And then I showed him the last vision--the pinnacle of his hopes, the Holy Grail of his mind and heart. Kim kneeling at his feet, clasped in his arms, the tender gaze of adoration in her eyes, the earnest tug of her hand on his, the longing plea in her voice: Never leave me, she would say to him; Stay with me, forever; I yield myself to you; Possess me completely, body and soul.

I allowed him to envision the worship in her eyes, to imagine the yearning in her voice. How sorely I tempted him. But when I showed him the means of obtaining his dream, he shrank in horror--and not at the thing that you would assume--the biting of her flesh, the supping of her blood. It was the price she would pay, the subjection of her soul, the involuntary servitude of her heart. Like the God he strives to serve (Pah! A pox upon that Deity!) he will not impose upon the free will of another. His desire to serve her is greater than his desire to have her. His wish for Kim's happiness is greater than his wish for his own happiness.

This of course it the Achilles Heel of my kind. We cannot hope to dominate a soul that is so fixated on unselfish love. It is that which we fear most--not the sight of a crucifix or holy symbol, as most fools suppose.

I therefore withdrew my offer. I left him with the regret that all humans have; that they must age and die, that even love might grow cold. So be it. That is the price of free will, as both the divine and mortal beings have discovered.

Friend Ned, you are glancing about nervously. Can it be that our time together is really so wearisome? Let me guess. You are waiting for someone else to come in--a customer, someone to use the restroom, the pay phone, anyone--so that you will not have to be here alone--with me.

Trust me--you would not want to meet some of those who wander the streets at this hour--and I do not refer to the criminal element.

Could it be you are waiting for sunrise, the end of your work shift--or the end of the nighttime? Sunrise is hours away. I will be long gone before that--and I will take from your mind the memory of my visit, which I have found so delightful, but causes you such unpleasantness. You will not remember our time together--except now and then--in a nightmare--and you awaken drenched in cold sweat. It will be my parting gift to you, a token of my regard.

Who am I really? Why--your friend Nostradamus Diabolos Feratu, son of Vlad Tepes Feratu; or as you used to call me, Nos-feratu. But you already suspect, don't you? I see the beads of sweat on your forehead.

Consider yourself lucky. The stench of garlic always seems to surround you. Besides, you are too small and miserable a morsel.

You already know **who--**and **what--**I am, mortal!


End file.
